The Dealers of Secrets
by Dragon-Sigma
Summary: A routine trade mission goes awry, and Jim finds himself and the people he cares about pursued by information-trading telepaths who are willing to go to any means to steal and sell their secrets, even those that may put the entire universe at risk.
1. Chapter 1

There's a crucial and incredibly delicate diplomatic operation planned for the morning, so he really does need the sleep, and for once he actually listened to Spock's boring sensible advice and didn't have too much alcohol or coffee during the day, but the universe must have a personal vendetta against Jim Kirk because that's when the nightmares of Khan- and the memory of his own death- decide to return in full force.

His dreams spin from the usual entertaining nonsense into terror and explosions and the Enterprise crumbling around him, suffused with the sick certainty that either he's gonna die or they're all gonna die. The mad warlord's threats ring through his head, shaking the ship to pieces and somehow Pike is there too, calling him a failure and a rulebreaker and a disgrace, and then he's dying and _everything hurts_ and he doesn't even know if the crew is safe yet but he's certainly not...

He wakes, and his ship is there and undamaged, she is solid and steadfast beneath him, but that does nothing to stop the shaking. He sits up and tries to think.

_Fuck. I thought I was over this._ Groaning, he runs a hand through his sweaty hair and curses Khan, the universe, and his own stupid head. Fucking nightmares. It's like he's a kid again, running from imaginary monsters (and sometimes real ones), and it's humiliating. He's _the captain_ or at least he tries to be, and a starship captain shouldn't be waking shivering in the middle of the goddamn night because he died over a year ago. That's _over._ That's long gone, he's alive now and he should be getting on with his life; his ship and his crew need him. This is no time to be so fucking weak.

He's debating whether or not to try to go back to sleep, which will probably be nearly impossible at this point, or get up and try to do some paperwork or reading or something, but he's still fucking shaking, what the fuck is wrong with him…

He's jolted out of that unanswerable contemplation by his door buzzer, and it's Spock, of course it's Spock, and Jim doesn't know whether to curse him or love him because he always knows. Maybe it's some Vulcan thing or another; Jim should think it's disturbing that Spock can sense his mental state, but somehow it's not. For someone who claims to have no emotions of his own (although they both know that's not exactly true) Spock sure does show a lot of concern for Jim's. It hasn't been this bad in months, not since he was still in recovery and Bones had him doing physical therapy and stupid mental exercises every day and when he wasn't in pain he was bored and when he wasn't bored he was shivering in remembered fear or the thought of all the people he lost, held to reality and the present only by the touch of Spock's steady hand on his wrist.

He had counted himself lucky that his First was a skilled touch-telepath. Even without a proper meld, Spock could relieve some of the fear, instill calm in its place. But even he couldn't do anything about the lingering grief and guilt, and Jim had eschewed the comfort after several weeks, claiming that he didn't need the help. He might have been uncomfortable with the idea of relying so heavily on someone else, but he had also been grateful. He knew how important it was to work as a team, but he had vowed to fight the rest of his mental battles alone. And succeeded, mostly. The closeness between him and Spock faded slowly as they returned to their ship and their stations, leaving only memories strangely sweet and a level of understanding they hadn't shared before.

Spock steps into the room with a look that would seem neutral to anyone else, but Jim hasn't worked with the guy for this long without learning how to read him, and he knows that face means concern. Concern for him. He doesn't deserve it now, not when he should be beyond needing it.

"Captain. I would not interfere, only, you are demonstrating considerable distress."

Demonstrating considerable– yeah, that's a pretty accurate description actually. And now he's bothering Spock as well as himself. Fuck.

"It's nothing. Really. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Jim. You did not wake me. I was meditating, in preparation for the mission today. It is far more important that you are well." And somehow it _hurts_ to see the concern now clear in his eyes.

"It's just-" and he's not going to say nightmares, because that makes him sound like a fucking five-year-old. He sighs, or tries to, because the noise comes out more choked than he intended, and Spock takes another step towards him. This is ridiculous, he doesn't need to be comforted in the middle of the goddamn night by his goddamn First Officer like some kind of helpless kid. Some of the fear and pain curls into anger, anger towards himself, and while that doesn't feel like much of an improvement it's at least better than the alternative. Jim sighs again and this time it sounds almost normal.

"I dreamed about him again," he admits, "Khan." He drops his head into his hands because even saying the name sends another shiver of fear through his body. And why is he fucking shivering he's safe on his– _his– _ship, how does this even make sense? He can snap awake in an emergency and be perfectly fine, but throw a few memories at him… He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder and looks up to find that Spock has pulled over a chair from their chess game the previous evening and is sitting beside the bed. Jim thinks that he shouldn't be allowing this sort of thing, but he doesn't have the heart to send Spock away and he has to admit– if only to himself– that it helps quell the lingering fear if not the shame at having reacted to it.

"Dreams are a perfectly normal reaction to traumatic events," Spock tells him, softly, "In fact, they are to be expected. As I have told you before, you have nothing to be ashamed of. In no way does this diminish your character or your abilities."

He tries to believe it, knows Spock is telling the truth, but it does little to stop him feeling weak and pathetic and stupid. For a few minutes, anyway, before those thoughts are drowned out by an intense tiredness. He lies down to sleep again, hoping this time Khan will stay well away.

~o~

When he wakes up again it's actually a normal hour, which is good, and he's actually rested, which is even better. Spock left at some point; his chair is back at the table and there's no sign anyone else was even in the room. Which Jim is glad of, it would have just been awkward to wake up with Spock still there. Even if a small part of him seems to like that idea, he needs to get to work. Even if he can't fully shake the thought of Khan from his mind.

Pulling on a shirt, he checks his padd to find that Uhura has sent him several reminders about the major cultures of the Treyessa, as if she hadn't already briefed the entire diplomatic team on the native etiquette the day before, and the day before that. She's involved with a complicated law translation, so she's not coming on this mission, but she's still making sure it will go smoothly. Once, Jim would have considered this an insult, Nyota thinking he couldn't even be bothered to remember, but a few taps shows him that the messages have also been sent to everybody else planning to visit the planet and he considers that it's just her making certain her job is done right. His crew is amazing, even if some of them are a bit uptight and some of them are barely adults at all. It might be a bit hypocritical to think of Chekov as a kid when he's nearly twenty and already saved their ship several times, especially when Jim already leads one of the youngest crews in Starfleet history, but the guy is just so damn adorable, especially when he's curled up next to Sulu in one of the rec rooms playing those retro video games Sulu somehow got installed in the entertainment servers. Sulu's saved his ass a fair number of times himself. Carol too, her weapons knowledge had saved an entire starbase from radical anti-Federation terrorists shortly after they began their mission. He still loves telling that story over drinks, how she spotted the bombs among the various bits of newly-installed machinery and disarmed them before any damage was done. Then there was that time McCoy saved that governor's son when the kid had an allergic reaction to those giant wasps. And– actually, his whole damn crew is just amazing.

There aren't any other pressing messages in his inbox– just a few news items from Earth and the recent Federation conference, along with some requests from Engineering for experiments with low-energy shielding and regenerative materials. All of those can wait. He sends out an alert to his team and heads to a briefing room.

It turns out that the notice was unnecessary. When he arrives, his team is sitting around the table waiting for him. They're the best crew in the fleet, why should he expect anything less?

Spock offers a brief nod as he enters. Uhura's deputy Neyren looks up a bit nervously, their fins fanning out into a formal attentive position. It had taken a while to convince the sometimes overly-formal Seytha linguist that they didn't have to stand when he entered a meeting, and that Captain Kirk wasn't going to take insult from being treated as a friend as well as a leader. The fourth member of the main group, Lieutenant Bethari Sudarto, the Indonesian woman who recently took over as head of Security, gives him a sharp salute, and he returns it with a smile. She's muscled and intimidating and skilled in all sorts of martial arts, both Terran and alien, and she's training her team to respond to anything. Jim watched some of their drills and he almost hopes some dumbass will try to attack them, just so he could see the look on their face when Sudarto takes them down.

It's a small team, which both Sudarto and Spock have raised questions about. They'll have more people beam down after the initial negotiations, but both Uhura and Neyren have insisted on the number. The Treyessa in general, and especially the major ethnic groups represented in this meeting, would distrust a large group during the contracts and consider it a show of force. The dozen or so other people in the room will have to wait until the deal is sealed.

"All right then," Jim says, "I shouldn't have to go over what we're doing today because you all know already, but Starfleet regulations say I do, so I'll try to make this short. We want neodymium and platinum, they want high-efficiency engine components. Most of the deal has already been worked though, we're just here to seal it up and make a good impression. Once that's done, the rest of you will be free to beam down. On that note, I'll hand this over to Lt. Neyren for some last-minute reminders on how to behave on the planet." He nods at the Seytha, and they stand to talk.

"The Federation's Treyessan contacts are from the Southern Alliance government, which comprises twenty-three clan cities..." They go on to list behaviors to expect and taboos to avoid. Jim glances at the seated group to make sure they're listening. Just as Neyren is finishing up their speech, his padd chimes with a message: they're ready to beam down. He nods to his team, and they head to the transporter room.


	2. Chapter 2

This part of Treyessa is beautiful, Jim thinks, gazing up at the silvery geometric buildings that spiral into the sky, with their seemingly impossible structures held aloft by magnetic fields. Grass in various shades of blue and grey covers any open ground, not even ruffled by the vehicles flying overhead. He can see why Scotty's minions–and they are Scotty's minions, no doubt about it–in Engineering are so eager to get down to the surface. The city is a masterpiece of architecture. They take a few moments to look around, as they always do on a new planet, Spock no doubt deducing the exact mechanism used to control the magnetic fields, and Neyren spreading their fins to absorb the sunlight. Sudarto studies the various groups inside and outside the pavilion, preparing herself for any surprises.

The pavilion set up for the conference is no less spectacular. The floor hovers a few inches off the ground, and high above them a tent hangs unsupported, filtering the light from the planet's bright yellow sun. The Minister waves for them to enter, and Jim steps up into the pavilion, Spock at his side. Neyren follows a moment later, reluctantly leaving the warm sunlight. Sudarto takes a place right by the edge of the disk, where she can see both her captain and the delegates. She might not like being down here without her team, but Jim's confident that she can handle anything that might go wrong. Anything that might go wrong… that's not the best thing to be thinking about, but the Minister's aides are already showing them to their seats and he's got to focus on the mission at hand. A mission that would be a lot shorter if this was just them and the Treyessa. Instead, it's a conference with dozens of other planets. The Treyessa have an unusual way of doing trade. Rather than working out and signing deals individually, they like to make tentative agreements that are sealed at a physical meeting with representatives from all groups. Spock has explained the benefit: the Treyessa can sometimes wrangle bonuses out of the delegates by appearing to refuse the agreement and threatening to send the party away empty-handed and embarrassed. It's devious, and it takes way too much time for Jim's liking.

Finally, the introductions and small talk are over, and they're led to their tables, Neyren reluctantly pulled from the conversation they've struck up with a gaggle of other translators. The Minister, on the raised central platform, stands to speak, and the conference begins. Just like most of the diplomatic events they've attended, there's a lot of what Jim considers nonsense: traditional introductions and pointless discussion set in roundabout language. He'd make some sort of joke, if he wasn't so certain that Spock would just look at him disapprovingly if he suggested that maybe every single detail of interplanetary politics wasn't crucially important. After being the target of that look more than once, mostly whenever he gets distracted from some self-important governor or excessively long Starfleet briefing, he's not going to mention it again. When he gets back to the ship, he can joke about the bullshit of the day to Sulu. His helmsman doesn't take himself nearly as seriously as Spock and Uhura seem to all the time. Although he doesn't ever want to get on anyone's bad side–he's seen how fierce his crew can be when given a reason.

But for now, the meeting. Somehow it's even more boring than long hours on the bridge. At least there he feels like he's in control of something. Well, it's better than getting blown up, and he's at least glad that everything seems to be going according to plan.

The Minister waves a group of Treyessans in formal suits up onto the platform. One of them hands a data chip to the Minister's clerk, and a few moments later a holographic presentation leaps into the air above them. Jim watches the animated statistics for a few moments before turning to Spock. "What's this?"

"A promotion by the Southern Polar Metals Board in an attempt to persuade us to purchase their products. If you would consult the itinerary given to us..." Jim glares at him until he stops speaking.

"I _looked_ at the schedule. _This wasn't on it,_" he hisses, keeping his voice low to avoid angering the other delegates, but expressing his annoyance and impatience all the same.

"It has been updated, which is not unexpected, considering the methods of the Treyessan market. " Spock hands Jim his padd, and sure enough, the screen reads PRESENTATIONS BY LOCAL INDUSTRIES.

"Sounds pretty fishy to me," Jim grumbles, returning the device. Judging by the low murmur among the other attendees, they're not too happy about this either. Neyren isn't even bothering to translate the phrases the universal translator doesn't catch. Up on stage, the metals merchants prattle on, extolling the quality of their goods. Jim might be able to strike a good bargain an has plenty of experience bartering for snacks and drinks and lab time at the Academy, but he's no trader, and all this advertising is boring as hell. He vaguely wonders if his counterpart in that other universe had to deal with this much useless shit during his Captaincy. There wasn't much to go on from the fragments of memory he got from the other Spock, steeped in that unforgettable sense of fondness and devotion. The other Captain Kirk was a man who inspired that sort of loyalty from his crew. The love... he pushes that from his mind, it's too daunting a concept to consider when Spock is sitting right next to him. Besides, he thinks bitterly, the Jim that the other Spock loved probably never put his entire crew in danger and got dozens of people killed by being fucking stupid enough to trust an evil madman. The other Jim couldn't have been that sort of person, the other Jim wouldn't be reduced to a pathetic wreck by stupid simple dreams. And, fuck, there are the memories he doesn't want to think about. That was embarrassing, he should have at least been able to cope with it alone. It's a wonder anyone still respects him as Captain, really, a wonder the admirals haven't yet labeled him unfit and pulled him from command, with all the ways he's a total fuckup.

His inattention must have become obvious, because he's pulled back to the present by Spock saying, "Captain, the next portion of the conference is beginning."

"Right." He chooses to ignore the concern he can hear somewhere in that reminder. It's not like he's never gotten distracted before. He decides not to think about how incredibly easily his thoughts slipped away from business. Being stuck in bed for the better part of a year has probably eroded his patience.

He glances at the metal sellers as they shuffle off to the edge of the pavilion, and then blinks, because one of them is staring right at him. The next moment the seller is deep in conversation with his fellows, and Jim turns his attention back to the screen because Starfleet's contract is next to be discussed.

~o~

After what feels like a lifetime of debate over a deal he's certain was worked out way in advance, they're done. The Treyessan merchants have their engines promised, and Starfleet has their metals contracts. Just some diplomatic chatter left, and they can leave. The rest of their team beamed down as soon as the meeting ended and are currently engrossed in various discussions and studies.

Jim wanders around the tent. Neyren was perfectly happy to go back to talking excitedly to the other translators, and Spock is busy taking readings of the magnetic fields holding up the tent, a swarm of Enterprise scientists and engineers crowded around him. Sudarto hasn't left her position, and is glaring around at the suddenly busy crowds of delegates and staff. It doesn't seem very likely that someone would try to attack them at a trade meeting, but she's paid to be vigilant.

"Captain Kirk?" says a voice at his shoulder. It's one of the Minister's assistants. "Minister Yonda would like to speak with you regarding recent Klingon aggressions."

He's about to politely refuse on the grounds that Starfleet doesn't allow captains to discuss political matters outside of political settings, but this couldn't hurt and it might even help improve relations if he plays friendly.

The assistant leads him around the back of a building floating low to the ground. The tent is soon out of sight and Jim is beginning to wonder whether agreeing to talk was the best idea. No, he thinks, he wants to do this…

A few figures stand in the shadow behind the structure, and Jim has just enough time to register that the Minister's not there before he finds that he cannot move another step. Alarm floods his mind, washing away any illusions of security. What the fuck is he doing?

The figures step towards him, and that's the metal merchant there next to two people of some species he doesn't even recognize, and an Orion girl with a vicious grin, a humanoid wearing some sort of helmet with wires running across the surface and he's frozen, staring at the man's blank eyes. Then his brain is working rapid-fire like someone is pulling the thoughts from him: waking to Bones explaining the blood serum that saved him, Khan staring at them from within his prison as if he was the one in control, dropping Spock and the cold fusion device into the volcano at Nibiru, an old man on an icy planet showing him in a few intense moments of image and emotion a life lived in another universe, Bones injecting him with some crazy disease he's never heard of, Gaila explaining how to hack into the Academy databanks…

The feeling of someone rifling through his head turns without warning into an intense sensation of pressure and chaos that quickly threatens to become pain, then cuts off abruptly. Whatever force was holding him still breaks. He stumbles forward, nearly falling until Spock grabs his arm and steadies him. Jim wrenches his mind away from the past and blinks the flash of phaser fire from his eyes to see the blank-eyed man fall. Lieutenant Sudarto doesn't even wait to see him hit the ground before taking out the rest of the group, most with shots from her phaser. One of the Treyessa resists the first strike but falls after a sharp punch to the head. Sudarto is surveying her targets when the blank-eyed man stirs. She shoots him again, then when she's certain he's either dead or knocked out, takes out her communicator and barks orders for them all to be beamed back.

~o~

Back on the ship, it's organized chaos. They've been through enough emergency situations that the motions are familiar enough, but a surprise is still a surprise. Once the three of them are off the transporter pad, the techs being beaming back the rest of the team in twos and threes. Jim spots Neyren and Dr. Marcus among the returning crewmembers before he, Spock, and Sudarto are shuffled off into another room by a few other security agents. Jim suspects he's going to have Bones up in his face with a tricorder at some point within the next few minutes, so he wants to make the most of the time. Sudarto's ahead of him.

"Okay, we need to figure out who the hell that was and what the hell they want." She turns to him. "Captain, did you recognize any motive?"

"I dunno. The one with the white eyes did something that sorta stunned me. And then it felt like he was going through my head…" He runs a hand through his hair, remembering feeling like his own thoughts weren't his to keep. He glances at Spock, hoping for an answer, and is surprised at how tense he looks.

"He was using a form of distance telepathy to direct your thoughts and read those that came to the surface. When I intervened, he attempted to overload your brain, but I managed to divert and absorb the attack."

"You diverted it onto yourself!?" Jim yells, louder than he intended, and he's struck by concern when Spock appears to flinch back from the volume. He looks a bit dazed and tired too, enough to be noticeable.

"Are you all right?" he asks, more gently this time.

"Do not be concerned; there are other matters at hand."

Now he's certain something's wrong. He's probably messed up his head, taking a telepathic attack for Jim's sake, and of course he wouldn't admit to being anything less than fine even if he was dying, and especially not with anyone else in the room. He decides to wrap this up as quickly as he can.

"Lt. Sudarto, good work down there. You go ask around, see if anyone else saw anything. Spock, get checked out in Medical and then you can rest until we've organized the reports. We'll regroup later. First, I need to speak to the Minister."


	3. Chapter 3

As expected, Dr. McCoy is waiting for him when he steps out of the room. Jim submits to the examination, offering only a few sarcastic comments that the doctor returns with equally sharp replies.

"Scan's come up clean," the doctor finally declares, "You got lucky, kid. Whatever happened hasn't left any traces I can detect. Hold your horses, I'm not done yet!" he adds, as Jim tries and fails to walk away. "That's physical. I'm suggesting that you–and by 'suggesting' I mean I'm gonna make sure you do–talk to Spock and M'Benga, 'cause I don't know much about the mental side of things. Telepathic voodoo's not my area of expertise."

"Yeah, that's what I'm concerned about. It felt like they wanted something from my mind, and whatever that attack was, Spock looked pretty shaken up. I told him to go see M'Benga."

McCoy snorts. "I doubt he's going to. Half the time he doesn't even come in for regular examinations, what makes you think he's going to get help when he needs it?"

"Bones, you know I can't force him. Well, I could, but he'd be offended… I'm not going to do that. I was planning on checking up on him after I'm done with Minister Yonda." It's as good a time as any to change subjects, because for some reason Jim really doesn't want McCoy asking about anything going on between him and Spock. "I hope _she_ knows something about what the hell happened down there."

"Just don't be too accusatory, Kirk," And that's Uhura. When did she get here? "Most likely, it was some splinter group or unaffiliated terrorist organization, not insiders. The Treyessa have never caused the Federation any problems before."

"And I'm supposed to feel _better_ because it was terrorists who messed with my head, and not politicians?"

She gives him a look.

"Fine. I'll play nice. Get the Minister on the screen." He puts on his best Captain face and heads for the bridge.

~o~

"I assure you, Captain, we are putting our every effort into investigating this unfortunate and unforgivable incident. Those responsible will be found," Minister Yonda says, her calm and professional image only slightly hampered by the view of people working franticly in the background.

"I have a security force at this moment working with your people to ensure that, Minister." He'd sent them down right before Uhura connected the call.

"We regret any harm done to you. This will not be allowed to happen again." On the screen, another aide steps into view beside the Minister, and leans down to whisper something in her ear.

"Please excuse me a moment, Captain," Yonda says, turning to listen to the assistant. Jim drums his fingers on the console, waiting. This is going more smoothly than he had expected, which probably means something's going to go wrong before long. Yonda is handling the situation competently so far, at least. Jim's sick of having to go through uncooperative aides to reach hostile leaders when crisis strikes, or even worse, leaders who play at simpering and apologetic yet are equally as unlikely to offer any help or reparation.

Yonda turns back to face him. "Captain, I have received an update. The identification codes of a number of the presenters and attendees have been found to be either falsified or newly registered. Our security agents are currently tracing them. They will be questioned, and I will contact you as soon as we learn more about their identities or motives. We are also questioning all those who may have associated with the suspects."

"Thank you, Minister," Jim say crisply, and cuts the call. He comms his team down on the surface, hoping they're having more luck actually catching people.

"Have you found the assholes who tried to attack me?" This gets him a half-hearted glare from Uhura for the unprofessional language, but he doesn't really care. The junior officer who picks up the call makes a hesitant sound, then says, "Captain, you're not gonna want to hear this, but they've vanished!"

Shit.

"What do you mean? How have they vanished? You can't find anything?"

"We think they beamed away. There's no trace of anything out of the ordinary."

"Keep looking. The Minister found some bad ID codes, maybe you can figure out what ships they came in on."

"On it, sir,"

Now they've just got to wait. He hates this, the not knowing right after a crisis. when the bad guys–Uhura would roll her eyes at him for using that term–could be doing anything and he doesn't even know what they want, much less who they are. He stares out at space for a few moments, thinking. In the calm, he begins to register a growing headache. But there's not really a lot of pain, almost as if he's imagining it. And he's certain he's not as tired as he suddenly feels. Damn, if those thugs screwed up his brain… He's dealt with worse. Gotta focus on the situation, make sure his ship and crew are safe. There's a message on his padd from Scotty, timestamped from a few minutes ago, saying that they've gotten everybody back onboard and accounted for. No sign that anyone else was targeted, now that's another bit of data to add to the "figuring out what the fuck just happened" pile. But if nobody else was harmed, that's good news for sure, and he could always use good news. If only Spock was there to make some comment on the relative success of the mission, things would feel normal. He should make sure Spock's not doing something stupid, like working instead of actually taking a break because he was just _telepathically attacked. _He should update Spock on the situation anyway, and with that thought, he leaves the bridge to Sulu.

~o~

After nearly fifteen minutes of being lectured at by M'Benga regarding Vulcans and delicate neural pathways, with an additional rant from McCoy about mental pain control being no substitute for actual treatment and how his job would be so much easier if people stopped thinking they didn't need to take care of themselves, he's heading to Spock's quarters with a hypospray of something he can't pronounce but that should help, and a firm warning that Spock should rest for the remainder of the day or risk permanent damage to his mind.

When he steps into the darkened room, he's a little startled to see that for once he doesn't have to tell Spock to stop working on something and go to bed. If it weren't for the fact that he had unlocked the door at the buzz, Jim would almost think he was sleeping, at first glance at least. It's not until he gets closer that the tension and pain become clear.

"Please do not turn on the light," Spock says wearily, "I am finding the sensory stimuli… increasingly unpleasant." That's an understatement if anything, judging by the way he's lying with an arm curled under his head, looking tense and miserable and exhausted. Jim wonders briefly how much of this could be considered his fault, and mentally recoils from the sting of guilt that thought brings with it.

"Hey. How're you doing?" he asks, as it the pain wasn't obvious.

"I will be well in time. The effects are more severe than I had anticipated." A pause. "My focus is disrupted. Meditation, and thus control of the symptoms, has proved impossible."

"You didn't go to Medical," Jim says, keeping his voice low; M'Benga had said that migraine and weakened shields are the most common results of telepathic overload, and the last thing he wants to do now is make Spock's condition worse.

"I found it more convenient to return here."

"I figured." He doesn't have it in him to chastise Spock at the moment. "Hold still, I'm going to hypo you." He does so, telling himself that he's not a bit jealous of the way Spock doesn't even flinch at the needle. A few moments later, and he's rewarded when Spock finally relaxes, some of the tension draining away.

"That is… a significant improvement. Thank you, Jim."

He smiles. "It's not actually a good idea to totally ignore a doctor, okay? Pisses them off. Trust me, I know." Ignoring his own health is also dangerous and doesn't seem at all logical, but Jim's not going to argue now. At some point he'll bring it up, but not now.

"Doctor McCoy has a habit of interpreting an undue number of my actions as antagonistic."

"He does that for everyone." After three years at the Academy with him, Jim is used to the doctor's gruff treatment of almost the entire universe. He knows it's mostly well-meant, a way of showing affection with the added benefit of scaring away idiots.

"What is the status of the investigation?" Spock asks. Of course he'd be right back to business.

"We don't know much yet," Jim tells him, trying to reign in his frustration. "They got away, but the Minister found some phony ID codes and they're questioning people."

"I regret that I cannot be of more assistance…"

"Stop that, you did a lot today. Saved me, for a start." The last thing he needs is Spock feeling guilty about any of this, or worse, trying to work in his current condition. "We just have to wait." He'd like to complain about that, but he's not selfish enough to bother Spock about something they can't change. "You need to actually sleep, got it? Meditation isn't enough."

"Understood, Captain."

Yeah, he probably deserved that one. But Spock recovering his interesting sense of humor is a very good sign. Jim only hopes the rest of their problems can be solved as easily.

~o~

"Any news?" Jim asks, dropping back into his chair. A quick scan of the alert console reveals nothing.

"Not yet, sir," Sulu reports. "We're still waiting on the Minister."

They only have to wait a few minutes before the call comes through. This time, it's not the Minister but another Treyessan wearing a uniform that would be recognized as military on any planet. She introduces herself as the head of the security force, and in charge of the investigation.

"We have not yet found any of the criminals, however, one of their accomplices has come forward," she says. The crew on the bridge exchange hopeful looks.

"What have you learned?" Jim prompts.

"The criminals are information traders who were looking for industry secrets. They promised the Polar Metals Board insider information on their competitors in exchange for allowing their agents to enter today's conference in disguise, and bribed the organizers to schedule a last-minute presentation. Many of their agents are telepathic and the attention gave them the opportunity to look for targets among the attendees."

Certain things are starting to make a terrifying sort of sense.

"And for some reason they found me interesting."

"That appears to be the case." The Treyessan falters a moment. "Again, we apologize for the incident-"

"I've heard it." It's not the time for that. "Does your suspect know anything else? And who is it?"

"An assistant to the Polar Metals staff, who handled the records for the illegal meetings and overheard several other discussions. He offers this information in exchange for leniency from the charges that will no doubt be brought against the conspirators. I have told you all we know."

"Do you have these illegal records?" If there's any chance they could learn who their enemy is, that would be it.

"No. They were destroyed by the criminals' allies when we started our investigation into the Polar Metals group."

"And the people who made this deal with the criminals?"

"Escaped alongside them. We have no other leads."

It's not much to go on, but it's a start, Jim thinks after he ends the call.

"They got away. We could still be in danger," he says, thinking out loud in the hope that a solution will come to him. What do they want? Something in his mind attracted them. If he had to make an assumption as to what spies like that would want, he'd think it was the usual Starfleet intel, classified missions and technology. Starfleet is no stranger to spies. But there wasn't any of that in the images they pulled from his head. Cheating on the Kobayashi Maru, the mission at Nibiru, that's old news. Those might once have been secrets, but they're not anymore, so they can't be of any use to spies. The older Spock from that other universe…

And then he realizes. They want to know about the future.


End file.
